


Funeral Games

by misura



Category: The Last Starfighter (1984)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Fake Character Death, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His <i>killer</i>?" Alex repeated. "I thought he'd been in some sort of accident."</p><p>Grig made that wheezing sound he always made when he assumed (usually incorrectly) that Alex was making a joke. "Well, I'm sure he didn't mean to get killed. So you may be right."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Funeral Games

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Alex/Centauri, underneath the mask_ (moon_blitz)

"Oh, that Centauri," Grig said, shaking his head sadly. "He must have hatched a thousand schemes to get rich quick, and another three-thousand or so to do it slow."

Alex looked around the room and tried not to stare at the guy (or possibly the girl) with two heads, three noses and eight eyes. "Is he really dead this time?"

There was some sort of chest on display at the front of the room. A casket.

"Oh, I'm sure he isn't," Grig said cheerfully, before he sniffled and blew his nose. Loudly.

The two blue tentacle aliens glared in their direction. (Alex had been introduced to them at some point, he was fairly sure, but then, he'd been introduced to everyone.)

"So what are we doing here, then?" Rebuilding the Starfighter Legion was hard work, and attending the funeral of someone who wasn't even actually dead was not Alex's idea of a day off well spent.

"Paying our respects in case he is," Grig said. "Also, looking for his killer."

"His _killer_?" Alex repeated. "I thought he'd been in some sort of accident."

Grig made that wheezing sound he always made when he assumed (usually incorrectly) that Alex was making a joke. "Well, I'm sure he didn't mean to get killed. So you may be right."

Alex sighed and decided not to say out loud that he really hoped he wasn't. "How long until we know for sure?"

"The left pocket of your uniform," Grig said promptly. "A member of the waiting staff slipped a note into it when welcoming us. Undoubtedly, it is from Centauri. He can be quite clever in such things."

"You - " Alex decided it would probably not look good if the famous Starfighter attempted to strangle his Navigator in public, especially not at a funeral. "Thanks, Grig."

"Any time."

Alex slipped his hand into his jacket. He tried to make it look casual, almost accidental. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper with alien writing on it, in a script he didn't immediately recognize until he realized the letters and the words were English.

_No worries, I'm just fine.  
\- C._

 

"It was a nice funeral, don't you think?" Centauri said. "Lovely flowers, emotional speeches. I shed a few tears myself, I'm not ashamed to admit."

Alex choked on his coffee. (It wasn't really coffee, but close enough.) "You were there?"

Centauri looked faintly offended. "Well, I had to, didn't I? How else was I going to find out who tried to kill me by mucking up the braking mechanism on my Starcar? I tell you, someone wants to take a shot at me, I say, let them come. But touching my lovely Starcar? Now that's just going too far."

"You have some really weird priorities, you know that?"

Centauri shrugged. He'd ordered the alien equivalent of tea and a slice of pie.

"So which one were you?" Alex asked. "One of the waiters? A guest?"

"Never take away the mystery," Centauri said, pouring some milk into his tea. "Always keep 'em guessing." He winked. "The first rule of good salesmanship, Alex."

"Sounds more like a good way to get yourself killed," Alex said. He sounded a little annoyed, he realized, which was fair enough, given that he felt a _lot_ annoyed.

Centauri considered, then shook his head. "No. Being mysterious has never gotten anyone killed yet. I'll grant you it preserves a certain ... distance, though. Keeps people at bay. No friends, no commitments. Centauri works alone. Always has, always will."

Alex glowered at the menu until it turned blue and a deeply apologetic robot waiting bot rolled up to their table to ask the 'honored guests' what was wrong.

Centauri looked slightly amused as it rolled away again. Alex felt his cheeks burn.

(He found a folded napkin in his right pocket later that night, after Grig had wished him a sleepy 'good night', with only two words scribbled on it, in English again.)

_Corpse, obviously._

 

"Presumably, their reasoning is that if he can find one true Starfighter, he can find more," Grig told him over breakfast, which consisted of something close to bread for Alex and something definitely not bread for Grig. "After all, at present, the Legion is still vastly under strength."

"There's going to be another invasion?" Alex didn't much like the sound of that.

"If they believe their chances are good, undoubtedly." Grig sounded quite cheerful about it. "Of course, they will want to be sure Centauri is dead, first. And you. Perhaps even me."

"So not for a while, then." Alex wondered if someone was going to suggest giving him another beta unit. He sort of hoped not. It had been very strange the first time around, and robot or not, he still felt a bit weird about the fact that someone had died while pretending to be him.

"Centauri is very hard to kill," Grig agreed. "Hard to find, too, when he doesn't want to be found. He's not called Centauri of the Thousand Faces for nothing, you know."

"That's really his nickname?" Alex asked. "Really? Centauri of the Thousand Faces?"

Grig wheezed. "Would I lie to you?"

 

"A thousand?" Centauri scowled. "They underestimate me."

They were meeting in what Alex had come to understand to be the alien equivalent of a McDonald's, complete with milkshakes and waiters that were always smiling at you.

Alex sucked on his cola. "They do? How many faces have you got, then?"

Centauri spread his hands. "Think of every being you have ever met, no matter how briefly. Every being you have ever glimpsed as you passed by. In the streets, on a ship, at a base - it doesn't matter. Take that number and multiply it by a thousand. A million. Then, you will have an inkling of the number of faces Centauri possesses."

"That's a lot." Alex nibbled on some of his fries. They were okay, he supposed. Not great, but okay.

"A thousand." Centauri shook his head. "See? That's the problem with most people. No imagination. No guts. You bring them a dream, and they tell you it's not realistic enough."

"So, why?" Alex asked.

Centauri unwrapped his burger. "Why what?"

"Why all the faces? Why not just be you?"

Centauri looked shocked. "Alex. I thought you of all people would understand. Why not just be me? That's not the question. The question is, why just be me, when I can be so many more people?"

"You're always Centauri though, aren't you?"

"To you, I am." Centauri grinned at him. "Most of the time, anyway. Now, finish your fries before they get cold. They've got Fazzles here; you don't want to encourage them."

 

"A good friend to have, Centauri," Grig said. "Just don't lend him any money."

"Does he even _have_ friends?" Alex asked. He sounded very bitter, he realized. He felt only a little bit bitter. Mostly, he felt hurt, which was silly.

"Well." Grig looked thoughtful. "There's you. And one other person who got a ride in his Starcar, but that didn't end well, so he probably doesn't count. So to answer your question: no, he doesn't have friends, plural. He's just got you. Maybe he thinks that's enough."

"You're not his friend, then?"

Grig looked more thoughtful. "Perhaps your translation unit is having a slight malfunction."

"Um," Alex said. "What sort of malfunction?"

 

"It's an Earth tradition, isn't it? Impressing someone with one's car?" Centauri said. "I confess, my intentions were both honorable and not honorable, but it seemed too perfect a coinciding of opportunities to let slip past me."

"You were trying to pick me up." Alex' mind was still boggled.

"I succeeded. Quite smashingly."

"Not - " Alex gestured vaguely. "You were _flirting_ with me?"

"Ah," Centauri said, "well, you see, it is this 'pretending to be a corpse' business. A bit hard on the ole flirting game, I do admit. I mean, how to wink seductively when the situation demands you to keep both your eyes firmly closed? A tricky thing."

"I'm not going to be friends with someone who won't even show me his real face." Alex had thought about this. A lot, actually. And sure, he'd recoiled a little on Rylos, when Centauri had popped up out of nowhere, looking a lot more alien than any of the Rylans or even Grig, but still.

You had to be honest about stuff like that. It didn't work, otherwise.

"I would be happy to be friends with someone who would show me a face he hadn't shown to anyone else," Centauri said. "I have a place on some out of the way asteroid, make all my faces there. We could go there some day, just you and me. No promises, but hey, who knows what might happen?"

"No promises," Alex agreed. He'd promised someone forever once; he wasn't going to do that again.

Getting someone to sign off on his taking a few days off from his job as the First Starfighter was going to be tough enough.


End file.
